


Yes

by etben



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good thing is, Ray's pretty sure Fraser wants to kiss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes

The good thing is, Ray's pretty sure Fraser wants to kiss him.

The shitty thing is, he's not _so_ sure of it that he's willing to do it first.

They're watching Frannie's kids—well, no. Technically, _Fraser_ is watching _Francesca_'s children, because he's a nice guy, like that. He always volunteers, when Frannie rushes in to the station in a tizzy because she's got to work a late shift, and the sitter's cancelled on her again, and she doesn't have time to take them over to her mom's place (she's living on her own, now, and Ray's all about that, thinks it's a great idea—hell, he wouldn't even have managed as long as she did, living with the assembled Vecchios).

Ray's still not entirely clear on how it all works, what the thinking behind it is—personally, he thinks that Fraser just volunteers to babysit because he thinks the kids are cute, and, you know, Ray can understand that. He's all about that, because they _ are_ cute, especially when you know that they'll be somebody else's problem in a couple hours. Kids are kind of awesome, when they're small—they're awesome later, too, but when they're small they're so dependent on you, and you feed them and you know that, for that moment, you're the most important person in the whole wide world, to them. Not that Ray feeds them, because he's not the one who's babysitting, here, and it's not his job, except for when they both get fussy at the same time, and then, of course, Fraser doesn't have enough hands to feed them both at once, so Ray takes one (Emilia, always Emilia, he knows it's stupid but he likes her better) and holds her until she's sucked down the bottle. He still makes Fraser burp her, though, because that's just gross, and did he mention that it's not his job?

He's just the chauffeur, because of course Fraser, being Fraser, always plans to walk over to Frannie's place, which would be one thing, but then he plans to walk back. It's not so bad in the summer, when it's light out pretty late, and warm, but now it's January, cold as fuck and twice as windy, and there is no way in hell Ray's letting him walk. And of course if he's going to drive Fraser there and then drive him home afterwards, it's just stupid for him to go home in between, so he stays at Frannie's, with Fraser and the twins, and they sit, and talk, and watch TV, mostly—the twins are still too young to do much more than wave vaguely at everything, so they don't mind.

So they're sitting on Frannie's couch, pressed together because it's tiny, with tons of extra cushions. Normally, they'd take those off, but today they forgot, and it's practically impossible to do, once they're settled in with the kids. Fraser's holding Raimondo—and hadn't that been a laugh, when he'd heard the name? Frannie had shrugged, said _It's a family name, what am I gonna do?_ It's ok, though, since Vecchio senior's down in Florida and there's only Ray and Small Ray here in Chicago. It's not as confusing as you'd think it would be. Ray's got Emilia in his arms, leaning her back against his shoulder, supporting her head. He can tell she's about to conk out—she gets this look, right before, this sort of sleepy-focused look, like maybe she's paying a lot of attention to everything around her, but then again, maybe she's not.

They do this a lot, him and Fraser—Ray'd say it was a rut, but he kind of likes it, so maybe it's not a rut, maybe it's a—a tradition, say. A ritual, even, except that sounds either too kinky or too religious or both, and this isn't either. It's just friendly, homey: the two of them, pressed together from shoulder to knee on Frannie's couch, watching hockey with the babies. And Ray's pretty sure Fraser wants to kiss him, which is also part of this tradition-thing they've got going here.

It's all little tells, with Fraser, like being in high school again. He'll look over at Ray to say something, and keep looking a little too long, a little too often. His breath hitches when Ray shifts his weight, and not a "Ray, my friend, you're elbowing me in the side" -type hitch, either. It's a little _oof_ of air that sounds kind of like sex—it's the noise Ray thinks Fraser might make if someone, say, backed him up against the wall and kissed the hell out of him, or bit his neck, right at the soft place, or...something.

Ray's been shifting his weight a lot, tonight, but he's not going to kiss Fraser. Nope. No way, no how, not happening.

The thing is, Ray's fine with no. No is no problem for him—well, sure, he doesn't like it, it doesn't give him a happy or anything, but he's used to it, he can deal. He'll fight it a little, but that's just checking, making sure it was a real no and not a no-not-yet-ask-me-again. When yes turns into no, though—that kills him, every time, gets up in his guts and ties him in knots. That's what got him with Stella, and it's why he's not going to kiss Fraser. Fraser's been saying yes to him since the day they met, following his lead and leading his follow, dancing together like they were made for each other, and Ray doesn't think he could handle it, seeing that yes turn into a no.

So he's not going to kiss Fraser, no matter how much he wants to.

Which turns out not to matter, because when he turns to check how Small Ray's doing, Fraser's _there_, up close and personal. He looks weird at this distance, but everyone does, and—god. He just gets closer and closer, until—

—Fraser's hand on his face, big and gentle, and the brush of lips on his—once, twice, again, again, until it's somehow past that impossible barrier and just one long kiss, hot and ridiculously, stupidly sweet. It's awkward, with the twins in between them, and they're turning towards each other, craning their necks and trying to get that much closer, please, here, just, _yes_—

Of course, they manage to shift the wrong way, and Small Ray wakes up, starts to cry, wakes up his sister, who starts to cry, too, so he and Fraser are stuck trying to calm down two screaming babies, when all Ray really wants to do is pin Fraser down on the couch (or against the wall, or over Frannie's kitchen table) and strip him naked.

Or maybe Fraser could do that to him.

Finally, though, they get the twins to sleep, for real, this time. They're standing over the crib, looking down and rocking it gently, and Ray turns to look at Fraser, who, it turns out, is already looking at Ray. Fraser takes a step forward, and then another, and another, and Ray ends up backed up against the closet door, with Fraser leaning down over him, blocking out the light, kissing him like the world is ending, or maybe like it's starting over, like it's the best thing ever and he invented it, personally. Ray's good with that—he's all _over_ that—and he ups the stakes, sending his hands into the mix, searching out all of Fraser's sensitive spots, grabbing his hips to drag them closer, pulling Fraser in around him, closer and closer, tugging and shifting until it's yes, right there, God, yes, please, oh—

He's not sure how long they go at it, there in Frannie's apartment, leaning against the closet door, blind to the world, but it can't be too long, because they're both still wearing all their clothes when they hear Frannie at the apartment door, although Fraser's shirt is untucked and the top button of Ray's jeans is undone. It feels like it's totally obvious, like they might as well wear signs, or body paint, maybe, but Frannie doesn't notice a thing, just thanks Fraser politely, grouses at Ray, and shoos them out. They go without complaint.

After they stumble against the banister the second time, they make a half-spoken agreement to keep their hands to themselves until they make it safely down the stairs. Outside, in the freezing air, they look at each other, uncertain and hopeful. Fraser looks—it's a romance novel word, and Ray hates it, but it's the only word that comes even close to how he looks—he looks debauched. He looks like he likes it, like he wants more.

"So, hey—wanna come back to my place?" Ray says, shifting on the balls of his feet, playing it cool because that's the only way he's going to make it home without exploding. "We could catch the rest of the game, maybe—" when he knows damn well that neither of them have any idea what the score is, and wouldn't care if they did. Fraser just smiles, like he sees what Ray can't even admit he's showing, and says,

"Yes, Ray."

Ray doesn't think that answer's ever going to change.


End file.
